The Sweetest Moment
by public static void
Summary: Queen Maeve is a travelling teacher, going from village to village to help people learn more about magic, and the people love her so much they throw her a celebration.


**For the St Patrick's Event at The Golden Snitch** : write about a group of friends celebrating. Additional prompts: (word) luck, (word) fight, (word) gather, (word) celebration, (colour) pearl white, (object) shamrock, (object) Firewhiskey, (creature) Aethonan, (dialogue) "I suppose you're going to tell me there's a pot of gold under that rainbow?" / "If there was, it wouldn't matter; I have my pot of gold right here.".

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They call her Queen, not for her ancestry but for her achievements. Only Maeve, Queen Maeve, can unite the Irish witches and wizards against a threat even their luck can't help them fight. Ignorance is, in her eyes, an imminent danger waiting for the right time —it builds armies of unprepared men and women who would fight among themselves for the littlest thing. Queen Maeve —only Maeve, really— believes the fighting will expose them to the muggles.

So, Maeve prepares. There is much to do, with her wand and her brain both, but Maeve will set up a school and teach them all what they need to ensure the secrecy.

At the nearby village, the word spreads quickly. There are many witches and wizards who don't know how to levitate a feather or make a pebble go round and round. Maeve teaches them that and more.

There is a girl, Roisín, who is a Seer. Maeve doesn't have the Gift, but she leads Roisín to the world beyond her eyes and teaches her to distinguish the truth from the lie; Roisín smiles, for the first time in years.

"I don't have the dreams anymore," she says, showing Maeve teeth of pearl white colour and her smile stays with Maeve as she grows and travels from one village to another. "And I owe it to you, Queen Maeve."

Saying thank you is more than enough. Knowing another village is protected from the dangerous ignorance and able to better hide from muggles is what Maeve wants.

She goes on to another town. This one's bigger and Maeve finds almost eighty wizards and a hundred witches. They are too many for her to teach, so the teaches them how to do it in her stead. Fifteen witches learn to read and write, and they make small groups to pass on the knowledge.

When they are ready, Maeve teaches them charms and hexes, and even one or two curses she picks up in her travels. The almost two hundred students, boys and girls and more than a few adults, gather in the forest to learn every night and soon they are as able as they'll ever be and Maeve prepares to move on again.

"Don't go yet," one Fergus tells her and holds her hand. He has blonde hair and more freckles on his nose than she has in all her face. His teeth are crooked and his hands too calloused, but Maeve sees the intelligence behind his words and hears the affection of his beating heart when he's close to her. "You're not the only one who knows to organise gatherings, Queen Maeve. We prepared a celebration for you."

"I might stay a few days more," she tells him with a smile and feels herself blush.

She does stay to celebrate and enjoys the happiness around.

"She's helped us, so we'll toast to her health! We'll toast cheer her name and celebrate what she taught us!" someone says, and Maeve is ashamed to say she doesn't know if it's Somhairle or Stiofán because those redheaded twins are tricky to tell apart.

The people around her, the students she taught, sing her name as she feels her eyes get teary. The adults are all drinking Firewhiskey and Maeve herself lets the people offer her mug after mug of the spicy drink, though never enough to lose her senses.

"For you, Queen Maeve," comes a child to her. Maeve knows her to be Mallaidh, the littlest of her charges. "A shamrock for good luck."

Maeve kisses her forehead and takes the four-leafed clover in her hand. It's undamaged, it's green colour striking against her rosy skin.

"I'll never forget it, Mallaidh."

The few words and an honest smile are all the girl needs to smile and join the dances. Maeve, with two left feet, doesn't join but claps her hands to the sound of music and laughter.

"Do you remember the last time you danced, my Queen?" Fergus is at her side, teasing her with the memory of her making the other seven dancers fall to the floor for her lack of dancing abilities. "I might have seen too much skin that night."

Maeve laughs at the innocuous flirting, though she grabs the mug of Firewhiskey from his hand and jugs it down.

"I won't allow you to keep drinking, Fergus," she tells him good-naturedly, banishing the mug to the nearest table. "Remember the last time you drank this much? I might have seen too much silliness on your part."

He laughs with her this time, and when they quiet down Maeve thinks once more of not going anywhere else and staying there, with him.

"You haven't told me you love me," she said playfully, watching his eyes narrow suspiciously.

"If I told you, would you stay?" he asks, grabbing her hand. The roughness of his fingers takes her to another world, the celebration around her completely forgotten but still going on. The music is louder, but Maeve doesn't distract herself from Fergus' next words. "You're chasing the rain when you have a rainbow right here."

"I never took you for a predictable sentimental, Fergus. I suppose you're going to tell me there's a pot of gold under that rainbow?"

"If there was, it wouldn't matter; I have my pot of gold right here," he answers in a heartbeat, taking her other hand between his. There is a softness in his smile Maeve can't ignore, and she wonders if his lips are as soft.

"I can't stay, Fergus," Maeve says sadly, shaking her head. "I vowed to help people learn so we can be educated, so that, if the muggles see us, we know what to do and how to react. I want Ireland to be filled with magic and, for that, someone has to teach the rest of us."

"I understand, Maeve. I just wish to be with you and I know you want to be with me."

They stand in silence, letting the noise of the people and the music drown them. It's a shattering noise, Maeve thinks, but it's coming from her breaking heart and not from the celebration.

She closes her eyes and shakes her head, aware of Fergus' eyes over her. She thinks of all the shared moments —he is with her when little Mallaidh learns to repair a broken flute and when Old Maid Toiréasa happily cries at being able to use the wand her father gave her before his death.

Fergus is also there when Maeve gets the owl with the news of her brother's death.

"We've shared wonderful moments," she tells him, surprising herself at the sound of her breaking voice. "But I have to go."

She doesn't let him say goodbye because it will make it harder; as soon as she says those words, she sprints into a run, grabbing the skirt of her dress to avoid tripping over them.

The sound of music is far from her when she finally stops and walks to the town's shared stables and finds her Aethonan.

"We're going away, _Chonaic_ ," she says, putting the saddle on the Aethonan. "I can't stay and I can't leave him. The people need me and I have to go."

She is thankful for her moleskin purse, meaning she can go right now instead of having to cross through the celebration to get to her temporary home. Maeve can't see the saddened face of Fergus again.

"Do you think _Chonaic_ will be able to carry the both of us, or should I pay for another Aethonan?" asks Fergus, startling Maeve.

 _Chonaic_ neighs as if offended at the question, stomping its front left foot and pushing Fergus with its head.

"I think he says he can," Maeve smiles. "Does that mean you're coming?"

Fergus approaches her and grabs her wrists tenderly. Maeve, for all her strength and sharp abilities, has a delicate air to herself —an elegance Fergus fears to break with his roughness.

"Wherever you go, I'll come with you."

Finally, for Maeve has waited months for this moment, she launches herself carelessly at Fergus, almost crashing against him. He holds her close and she reaches for his lips as a drowning wizard reaches for air.

And it's even sweeter than she thought.


End file.
